Page 74 of Depraved
Inside.His answer is crisp and terse.
Any of them get in yet?
Don’t know. They jumped us and we were outnumbered until now.
I turn, sprint to the other side of the roof, and leap off into the alleyway behind the strip mall.
The hot pavement nearly singes the undersides of my feet as if I’m walking right into hell. Sounds about right.
I kick at the metal door labeled with stupid wedding bells, but it resists, and I have to give it a couple whacks before it sags inward. Someone put the damned deadbolt on the fire escape door. Motherfucker.
Well aware that I’m wasting precious seconds and of what’s at stake, I take a deep breath and run at it, using my shoulder to brutally shove the top half in. It’s not a subtle entrance. Definitely not a quiet one.
But this is war. And I’m not a sniper, moving around and dealing death out in secret. I’m a king dealing out executions.
My heart trills rapidly, a war drum inside my chest as I stalk forward down a narrow hallway to save my mate and avenge my pack. Viciously. Brutally.
Because glory is always drenched in blood. And I’m about to paint my skin in both.
I grit my teeth, letting my wolf and my feral side take the lead. Immediately, I realize two things: I can smell blood. And I can hear two fierce sets of growls.
Did little Thomas bring a friend? Or did one of our alphas go with Elena? I hurry forward down the hall, belatedly realizing that Elena’s mother is an alpha. Of course, her mother would go with her. And defend her.
When I emerge from the narrow hallway, everything’s in disarray. The overhead lights shine merrily down on silks and satins that are normally pristine. Right now, they’re shredded, spotted with blood.
These delicate wedding dresses and tiaras, the stuff of every little girl’s dream, are mixing with every little girl’s nightmare because monsters are destroying the place.
Two mannequins have tumbled from the window, which is cracked. There’s a mirrored platform for brides-to-be, and the mirror is shattered and scattered along the ground. Circular dress racks have been turned onto their sides, and they resemble circus rings … the kind dangerous animals are forced to jump through. One werewolf slams into a ring, shoved by the other.
I immediately spot Thomas Stone, the aggressor in the fight. I recognize him by his smell, which is close to walnut. His monster form is huge, with brown fur and a nock in his right ear. He’s much larger than the other one, and he pins the weaker wolf to the rack.
Fuck. I run in their direction, eyes still scanning for Elena.
My mate, still in human form, rushes forward with a wild scream, holding the broken shard of a wooden hanger in one hand.
No fucking way that’s happening.
I bolt forward so that my mate doesn’t get near that bastard.
I jump over the body of a dead human whose throat has been torn out. Then I swipe at Thomas, clipping him in the shoulder to distract him. I sidestep to put myself between him and Elena.
That’s when an icy, minty scent startles me.
I know that scent.
My eyes fly to the wolf that Thomas has pinned against the rack. The monster moans, his stomach gaping open, shredded by Thomas’s claws.
Oh, holy hell.
That isn’t Elena’s mother.
It’s Jonah.
How the fuck—
The distraction costs me as Thomas whirls and sinks a claw in. I barely pivot enough to make it a glancing blow so that it rattles across my ribcage instead of sliding into my gut.
It burns like he just poured alcohol across a cut … did that fucker lace his claws with something?
